


Five Firsts

by OrdinaryBird



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Awkward First Times, Explicit Sex, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 18:57:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3947989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrdinaryBird/pseuds/OrdinaryBird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Any budding relationship comes with many first-time experiences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Firsts

**Author's Note:**

> Extra special thanks to [Valda](http://archiveofourown.org/users/valda/pseuds/valda), my porn beta, and straydog733 for her cheerleading. (also this is the first explicit sex I've written, so comments on that would be super!)

I.  
Cecil’s skin is warm, always so much warmer than Carlos expects. He tries to play casual as he slips a hot, slightly damp palm into Carlos’ hand, and it _just so happens_ that something catches his eye at that precise moment, and he is therefore coincidentally able to avoid eye contact when Carlos glances his way, slightly startled.

When he looks forward again, he holds his head a little higher, like he’s passed some personal test and is proud of his success.

“Hey, uh, wanna come in? For a coffee or something?”

“It’s a little late for coffee, isn’t it?” Carlos frowns at his watch and thinks _the sun definitely should have gone down by now_ , but only for a second. He looks up again and smiles. “But I...uh, I could totally go for some…” _think Carlos think!_ “...water.”

He’s committed to it now. He keeps eye contact and nods slowly, purposefully.

Cecil smiles. “Sure. I have plenty of water!” and then makes a face like he hadn’t intended to say that at all.

Carlos laughs before he has a chance to think if it’s an acceptable time to laugh, blurts out “You’re so cute,” without thinking and Cecil drops his keys. 

The apartment is cool and dim, even when Cecil flicks the lights on. “Make yourself at home,” he says, and he’s rubbing the center of his palm with his thumb. He drops his hands to his side suddenly, but one creeps back up to tug at the neck of his tunic. Clearly he is nervous.

This is date number four and Carlos is a little unsure what he’s nervous about.

Cecil snaps his fingers suddenly and points at Carlos. "Water! Right. You wanted water.”

It is an interesting quirk of socialization, Carlos thinks as he accepts the glass, that everyone in the room knows he is not here to drink water. And yet here he is. He sips and then smiles over the top of his glass. He sits on the sofa and gently pats the cushion next to him.

Cecil sits. The smiles are coy. Who moves first? 

Carlos, in a bit of bravery that surprises even him, leans forward abruptly, but stops inches from Cecil’s face.

“Um.” He sets the glass down on the coffee table. “Can I kiss you?”

In response Cecil presses forward, almost too aggressively, and Carlos’ lip is mashed painfully against his teeth. 

However, the excessive momentum has resulted in a lap full of Cecil, one hand against his chest and the other on the back of his neck, and he isn’t going to argue with that too much. He is pushed back against the arm of the sofa and his lab coat slides from his shoulders.

He has been timid until now, Carlos knows, restrained, getting in his own way in the cutest way possible, but he is apparently in his element now because when Carlos experimentally opens his lips the response is swift and passionate and _hungry_ , like he’s been waiting for this for ages.

He can’t help it. He laughs into Cecil’s open mouth.

“What?” he leans back, looking down at the lap he’s straddling and then back again, as though suddely unsure of his position. “What’s funny?”

“I’m happy,” Carlos says, trying to suppress another giggle. “I’m just really happy.”

They leave the lights on, and most of their clothing. Their movements are slow, not cautious but curious. They stumble over each other, they take their time. There is no reason to rush. 

“You want to stay the night?” Cecil asks finally, sitting up again, trailing fingers down Carlos’ bare shoulder. “No expectation or anything.” 

And Carlos laughs.

 

II.  
“We could--um--I don’t--”

Cecil has never been this tongue-tied with a lover. Carlos makes him nervous--a good kind of nervous, but nonetheless he hasn’t yet settled into the self-assured posture it had been easy to affect with previous partners.

And so he leans over Carlos, tongue poking thoughtfully between his lips. “So articulate,” he mumbles with a nervous, shivery laugh. 

But Carlos, though, Carlos is so relaxed, so calm. He smiles and rests his hands comfortably on Cecil’s hips, without thinking, like they just belonged there, like they’d always been there. His forefingers stretch down just slightly, intimately, past the top of Cecil’s slacks, brushing lightly on the unexposed skin. “What do you want to do? Or--or not want to do?”

Cecil can’t say anything. He looks away and he knows his smile is tense and excited and nervous and a little embarrassed because because the answer to the first question is _a lot of everything, I have put much late-night thinking into this_ and the answer to the second question is _name any of these acts out loud._

“Do you always get this nervous? When you’re with someone new?”

Cecil shakes his head quickly and looks at Carlos through his eyelashes. “I’m actually usually kind of...bossy. At least really sure of what I want. And I’m--I’m sure--” he looks away again. “I’m just very invested in your opinion of me. I mean, what will you think of me when you find out what happens in my dirty mind?”

“I’m sure most of what I think will be _yes please_.” He moves his hands up Cecil’s waist and back down again. “Well. I mean, it would be inaccurate to just give blanket consent because frankly I don’t know what you’re going to suggest, but what you’re likely to be interested in for early forms of intimacy will probably be more than alright with me.”

“Additionally,” he says, “while verbal consent is _extremely_ important in making safe sexual choices--” 

And here _oh my stars_ he pushes down with his hands and rocks his hips slowly and firmly upwards and Cecil is caught off guard, leans back, sucking air between his teeth in a hiss--

“--I like your voice. I want to hear that voice say, well, all kinds of things.”

And he presses up again, and _wow_ is this basically heavenly and _oh my_ now Carlos’ mouth is open, just a little, and his breath is heavier and his hands are sliding back, onto Cecil's ass and he squeezes like he needs an anchor to keep himself from floating away.

Cecil realizes distantly that he is panting out little gasps, that he is thrusting forward to meet the movement of Carlos’ hips, that he is ridiculously hard and these pants are suddenly entirely too tight and _oh god_ can they get any closer--

He drops forward towards Carlos’ parted lips and kisses him hard, his hand slipping through the thick black curls and and the other is tugging helplessly at the buttons on his shirt because he needs to be touching skin _immediately_.

He moves his mouth away from those perfect lips and leaves a trail of lusty kisses around his jaw and down the side of his neck, dragging teeth gently to that little spot behind his ear and _oh_ he shudders so deliciously at a gentle bite pulling at his earlobe.

“Carlos,” he whispers, in his richest, sweetest voice, and he pauses, because he’s still working up the nerve to say _this_ to his Carlos, his Carlos who is inexplicably here, in this bed, with his back arched up and clutching the bedspread in his fist. “I know what I want.”

And the breath from that whisper into Carlos’ ear provokes a shudder and a sound he will think about for many nights to come, but Carlos rallies admirably. He wets his lips and whispers back, “And what is that?” 

Carlos is breathing heavily and Cecil’s heart is thundering in his chest. “I want to suck your cock.”

Carlos, who had so recently been still, relaxed, half-smiling, makes a soft, vulnerable sound and stammers, “Well I--I think you should do that.”

And Cecil snorts laughter into the space behind his ear and kisses him once--close-lipped, chaste--before leaning back to continue unbuttoning his shirt. He slides his hands lightly, reverently, over the bare, warm chest.

Carlos moves under his fingers, bucking his hips upward and the movement isn’t smooth anymore, but quick and needy. His eyes are closed and his head is pushed back into the pillow.

Cecil presses an open-mouthed kiss against the skin just below his navel, and with every movement of his tongue Carlos gasps again, again, _again_ and it’s been a while, sure, but Cecil feels pretty good about getting someone this hot while they’ve still got pants on.

He slips a few fingers under the button of Carlos’ jeans, stroking the skin, and there are soft mumbles of the “oh my god, yes” variety.

Unfastening his belt is a bit trickier, because Carlos can’t seem to hold still--he squirms and pants and rocks his hips upward eagerly. 

“Um, excuse me, Mr. Scientist,” Cecil says, and finds the playful tone comes easier to him now, “If you want my mouth on you I’m gonna need you to hold still.”

And Carlos--bless that beautiful man--half sits up, leaning back on his elbows, his eyes wide and lusty and he’s actually _biting his lip_ and he looks completely undone. He nods his head. 

When Cecil turns his hands back to the belt buckle, Carlos is still, and watching. Cecil holds eye contact, stroking him through the thick denim, undoing the button and pulling the zipper with a laborious slowness. 

Carlos stays still. Staring. He wets his lips again and waits.

And that is profoundly hot, but Cecil files away that patience for later experimentation because just now he has something else to focus on. 

“Pop up,” he says, pulling up on a belt loop, and Carlos complies, lifting his hips and allowing the jeans to be tugged downward. Cecil tosses them casually away and sits between the spread legs on the bed and realizes, as he slides his hands slowly up the inside of Carlos’ dark thighs, that he is still fully dressed and this gorgeous human in front of him is almost completely stripped. 

He leans forward, running his finger lightly under the waistband of the tight boxer briefs and pressing his lips against the bulge in the fabric. Carlos’ sounds are muffled, and when Cecil glances upward he sees that he is biting down on a knuckle.

“Don’t be shy,” he says, letting the warmth of his words pass teasingly through the cotton, “you don’t have to stay quiet. In fact,” he continues, slipping the elastic band down and tugging at the bottom of the shorts, “I’d rather like to hear your voice too.”

Carlos nods and brushes the sweat-damp hair off his forehead, and _gods_ there is nothing in the entire city limits as brain-achingly hot as this man in his bed. 

He leans over and runs his tongue ever so gently up the shaft, then presses harder just under the head, finding the little sweet spot with his tongue.

“You,” Carlos hisses through clenched teeth, “are a tease.”

“Mmm hmm.” The hum against him makes Carlos’ head jerk back, with the kind of sigh that sends tingles straight down the spine and makes one curl one’s toes. 

But Cecil has done enough teasing, and even as he carefully maintains a sense of calm his own arousal is intensifying. He passes his lips over the head and the sounds Carlos makes are unmuffled, not too loud but absolutely beyond delicious, and there might be words buried among the deep throaty moans, but Cecil doesn’t bother trying to make them out. Carlos’ voice rises in pitch with each pass Cecil makes over his cock, each sweep of his tongue.

“Cecil--oh my god, Cecil, I--”

And Cecil knows what warning he’s trying to choke out through the gasps and groans and he speeds his movements, and those seconds before it happens were always his favorite but this is different, this is _his Carlos_ \--

There is a muffled thump as Carlos’ fists hit the mattress, pushing him involuntarily up again. Cecil looks up as he swallows and sees that perfect body arch, head thrown back, and for a moment nothing else exists but this.

He’d thought he was in love before. But in this moment, these few seconds of blissful abandon on that glorious face, he falls again.

Carlos collapses gracelessly back to the bed. “Cecil,” he gasps, “I want to make a pun about your tongue, as in how--” he shivers slightly “--how your speaking voice is beautiful and also how amazing that was, but I can’t quite put it together. I...I owe you a pun.”

 

III.  
“Cecil, can you hand me my--”

Carlos looks up, carefully balancing a rack of full test tubes on top of a box of fresh slides. _Where did he get to?_

“Cecil?” He looks around the lab. There is a cooing sound in the distance. 

“Aren’t you just the sweetest little sweeties! Do those mean old scientists do experiments on you??”

Cecil has found the lab rats. 

“No,” Carlos shouts to him, but he doesn’t seem to notice, “but I think one of them might be immortal. My longest relationship has been with Sven.”

“And which one of you cute guys is Sven? I bet it’s you, handsome!” 

Carlos sets down the load in his arms. He notices Cecil glance uncomfortably at the small white mice in the cage beside the rats. “Don’t look at me,” he hisses, “I don’t trust you. You look shifty. Don’t you look at Sven either.” As he turns away, he mumbles over his shoulder, “I’m watching you.”

He seems to be more comfortable with Carlos now when they’re out in the world together. He rests his hand in the small of Carlos’ back when they walk together, pushes his chin forward in anticipation of a kiss before they part. Still, his movements in the lab are slow and cautious, and he doesn’t know the half of what he touches.

The only reason he is there, Carlos thinks, is because of the fight.

Well it wasn’t really a fight, it was more of an argument. A disagreement. A few dropped hints that Carlos did not pick up on time, several passive aggressive comments about how he _absolutely_ didn’t mind last minute cancellations or waiting for a date to start because something in a beaker was frothing unexpectedly. 

Cecil, in the aftermath of the argument, timidly suggested this as a way for them to spend more time together while still letting Carlos get his work done. He wasn’t convinced it was a good idea, but nothing has broken yet and everyone is unharmed.

He might even grow to like it. Cecil did seem awfully interested in science lately.

Carlos gathers up his box of slides and struggles to get the test tubes balanced again. He’d managed this just a second ago but can't get to it now--

“Ceec, could you just set that on top of this box here?”

There was a pause. Cecil, who had been absently fiddling with a microscope, turned towards Carlos as he straightened slowly.

“Did you just...did you just call me ‘Ceec’?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” 

Cecil picked up the tubes and set them on top of the box in Carlos’ arms.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, it’s kinda, well, cute, actually. I just didn’t realize we’d reached a pet-name point.”

“So I take it you don’t count ‘perfect Carlos’ as a pet name?” Carlos asks over his shoulder on his way across the lab.

“Oh, that doesn’t count.” Cecil waves dismissively and squints at Carlos through a petri dish. “That’s like you calling me ‘brown-eyed Cecil’.”

Carlos catches his eye, laughs to himself and mumbles, “Perfect Ceec.”

 

IV.  
Cecil waits. 

“Damnit _damnit_ I know it’s around here somewhere--!” Carlos is digging through drawers, increasingly embarrassed. 

He keeps his apartment tidy. Everything in place. He likes being able to find things easily, and anyway, organizing things is relaxing to him. The universe, he knows, is vast and chaotic, but his apartment is finite and therefore can have some logical pattern to its setup.

None of this explains how the bedside drawer is entirely devoid of items he was fairly certain were in there.

“There’s a drug store, like, right on the corner,” Cecil says, and when Carlos turns to look he sees a barely suppressed smile. “I’ll run out--”

“No, no,” Carlos says, waving a hand nervously. “I’ll go. I’ll be back in a few. I’m sorry, I was certain I had...ugh. You make yourself comfortable.” He turns hastily towards the door, embarrassed at his lack of preparation.

Cecil slinks off the bed and wraps his arms around Carlos’ waist from behind. “Hurry back,” he says, his lips grazing the back of his neck.

The cashier at the Rite-Aid gives him some significant looks, but he isn’t sure why. Cecil hasn’t exactly been discreet about their relationship, and it seemed like everyone in Night Vale listened to the show; it wasn’t difficult to extrapolate from there that at one point, either he or Cecil would have to buy condoms and lubricant. 

He shrugs at the young man, half smiling, as he pockets his change.

In the car he fidgets in his seat. He is excited. He is nervous. _This is apparently going to happen, and it is going to be awkward and glorious and hot and beautiful._

“Hello?” he calls as slips off his shoes at the door. Some small part of him is worried that Cecil will have gotten bored and left, although it’s only been ten minutes.

He moves toward the bedroom, bag in hand.

He opens the door. He drops the bag.

Cecil is lounging on his bed, casual as can be, leaning back on his elbows and completely naked. “Hey,” he says, sitting up, “welcome back,” and his voice is deep and husky and his smile is wicked. 

Carlos says nothing, but sweeps forward, kissing him hard, pressing his body flush on top of the bare form. Cecil pulls him down beside him and swings his leg over to straddle his hips, snatching the bottom of his shirt and pulling it off.

In the process, Carlos’ glasses get stuck in the collar and fly across the room. 

“Shit!” Cecil leaps off of him to retrieve them and Carlos wants to say _leave them, please, just stay with me_ but by the time he has enough air in his lungs he can see Cecil placing the carefully-folded glasses on the dresser. Carlos watches him flit back to the side of the bed. He pushes Carlos back down and fiddles with the buttons on his pants, but his smile is tinged slightly with embarrassment.

He rakes his nails down Carlos’ sides, then grabs the top of his jeans, yanking them off. And then he pauses. His breath is fast and heavy, his feverish movement stopped. He moves forward slowly and presses his lips into the center of Carlos’ bare chest. He looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t make a sound.

Carlos slides his fingers through Cecil’s hair, gently, and he wants to say something too but he can’t, the words stick in his throat, so instead he whispers, “I need you.”

Cecil lifts his head and their eyes meet. He looks so much like he did after their first date, the way he looked when Carlos stopped kissing him, confused and surprised and vulnerable. There is space for no other words, and when Cecil kisses him again it is slower and deeper and lingering, and Carlos wills his lips and tongue to say what he can’t verbalize, not yet. 

Cecil presses his hips hard against him, and the amount of skin-to-skin contact is utterly intoxicating. 

“Where did that--” Cecil starts, looking side to side, and Carlos points to the floor, eyes closed, and he hears the plastic rustle and the snap of a cap. 

He is nervous. He is excited. He is unsure if he has ever wanted anything more than he wants this, _him_ , right now. And Cecil is whispering in his ear, carefully slipping a finger into him, slow and luxurious and teasingly gently. “My brave, smart Carlos,” he says, his voice like a warm embrace, his fingers pressing slowly in, “I’m so lucky to see you like this. Relaxed. Trusting. Giving up control for a little while.”

He nips gently at Carlos’ ear, then starts tonguing kisses down the side of his jaw. Carlos feels himself move, almost involuntarily, sliding his hips down to meet Cecil’s long, slender fingers. 

“This is good?” A bit of the sultry overtone has slipped from Cecil’s voice. “You’re okay?”

“Dear _god_ yes,” Carlos says, then turns his face into Cecil’s shoulder, embarrassed by how loudly he spoke. 

“Oh, don’t worry,” Cecil says, lips grazing his forehead, and Carlos can hear the smile in his voice. “You don’t have to be careful, right now, about what you say or how you say it. Let me take care of you.”

Even if he’d had any disagreement--which _sweet heavens alive_ he does not--the movement of Cecil’s hand is slightly faster and the intensity swamps out coherent thought, and he hears himself choke out, “Now. Now would be good. I--yes.”

The pressing fingers pause and Cecil shifts. “Sure?”

“Uh-huh.” Carlos nods emphatically, eyes closed. He feels the mattress shift as Cecil pushes himself away from the bed, hears his footsteps and the rustle of the bag. His breath catches at the potency of the sudden absence, the lack of contact.

He exhales and opens his eyes.

“ _Why_ ,” Cecil grumbles, pulling fruitlessly at the top of the box, “do they sell you things if they don’t want you to open them?”

“Here,” Carlos says, “let me try, you’re all slippery--”

He watches Cecil put the corner of the box in his mouth and yank. A spray of condoms flies out of the box and patters to the carpet. Cecil stoops down to pick one up.

“Right,” he says vaguely as he rises again.

Carlos laughs. He tries not to, but he can’t seem to help it.

“Shut up,” Cecil mutters, sliding back over him and stopping the laughter with his mouth. He slides his fingers over Carlos’ cock, and the strokes of his hand short-circuit any comment he could have made about the condoms littering the floor. He drags his teeth down the side of Carlos’s throat.

“You like that?” he whispers, chuckling darkly against his neck.

Carlos tries to say _yes_ but what comes out is more of a “nnyah”.

“Yeah?”

Carlos nods, gasping out another not-word. He’s tense and tingling and just needs this to happen so badly, but he can’t speak, can’t articulate. He hears the plastic tear and closes his eyes again, breathing deeply, willing himself to relax around the careful fingers sliding inside of him. “Oh--” he gasps, “Oh my.”

He hears a soft laugh from somewhere in the vicinity of his navel. “Oh my,” Cecil says, imitating his tone, then sucking a line of hard kisses down from the waist. “Oh _my_.”

Cecil’s weight shifts on the mattress and Carlos opens his eyes. He looks beautiful, like that, his mussed hair haloed in the fluorescent light, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he pushes himself carefully, slowly inside Carlos.

Carlos gasps and clutches the bedclothes, but is otherwise still. 

“Good?” Cecil breathes, sliding his hand up Carlos’ wrist to intertwine their fingers.

Carlos nods again, unable to keep a soft groan from slipping out. There is _so much_ happening, waves of pleasure and nervousness and anticipation pushing at his consciousness, pulling him under. “Just stay still a minute?”

“Of course.” Cecil smiles. “Anything. Whatever you need.” He strokes two knuckles down the side of Carlos’ face, half-smiling fondly. “I told you I was going to take care of you.”

After a moment Carlos exhales and says, “You can move now.”

He feels more than sees Cecil’s responding nod, and the slow, gentle thrust makes him gasp, his hips pressing forward to meet him. “Faster,” he whispers, “I mean--please.”

“Mmm, you ask so nicely,” Cecil whispers through his teeth, increasing his speed, wrapping the fingers of one hand tightly around Carlos’ hip and bracing the other against the bed to grant him a little more leverage. 

The electric tingle has become arcs of pleasure radiating through Carlos, jerking his hips to meet the thrusts, his back pressing against the bed to move him closer, ever closer, panting and crying out half formed words of pleasure. He hears moaning above him, loud and unashamed, profanity and exclamations of love falling from Cecil's lips in equal measure.

Heat pulses through his body and his brain is on fire and he feels Cecil’s movements lose cohesion, thrusting fast and disorganized. He lets go of Carlos’ hip and wraps his fingers tightly around Carlos’ cock, stroking hard twice.

And then everything goes hot and blurry, and a shout pulls itself from Carlos’ throat as the hot pulse of release shoots through him.

He vaguely hears Cecil mumble “whoo boy”, leaning forward, sweaty hair brushing Carlos’ chest. He shifts and pulls out gently, sighing, and flops beside Carlos on the bed.

Carlos tries to speak, to say _that was amazing_ or--anything, really. He manages to choke out a little “uhhyes”. Then he gives up on speech altogether and reaches down to hold Cecil’s hand.

 

V.  
_We build little bridges, more and more every day,_ Cecil thinks as he stands in the doorway of his bedroom.

Carlos is over at his apartment a lot. He gets glasses of water and snacks from the fridge without asking permission, there is a space, in the riot of discarded shoes piled near the door, where his shoes belong. There are two towels hanging on the back of the bathroom door. Two toothbrushes in the chipped NVCR mug by the sink.

He has keys, now.

Well, the key exchange went both ways. Cecil explained the ceremony quickly, once, and then again, slowly, pausing to answer Carlos’ questions and wave off his concerns. But by the next new moon everything was settled and the exchange went off without a hitch.

So when Cecil texted **hiiii baby, so listen I have to work late because we can’t find any willing interns right now but there’s leftovers in the fridge if you still wanna stay over? :3** , and Carlos responded **yep! sounds good** , Cecil felt a strange, new contented feeling at the idea of having someone to come home to.

He was kept at work much later than he had expected, and it’s long past dark when he finally sneaks in the door and kicks his shoes into the hallway pile. The kitchen light is on. There’s just a fork and a cup in the sink, which meant Carlos had probably started washing up his dishes before something else distracted him away. Little bits of his presence are all over the apartment--the toothpaste tube has clearly been squeezed from the middle, not the end, and the blue towel is a little damp, and in the bedroom, on the bed, Carlos is stretched out, mouth open, snoring gently in a t-shirt and shorts.

This is another place Carlos lives, now. This is a place he belongs. He has the wifi password and spare clothing and he can fall soundly asleep in Cecil’s bed, even when he is alone. 

Cecil struggles hastily out of his clothing, leaving it in a little pile on the floor, because it are less important than this man and his closed eyes and the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. 

He slips under the tangled sheets as well as he can and snuggles up close. Carlos turns in his sleep and mumbles, “Hi sweetie.”

“Hey,” Cecil whispers. He doesn’t want to wake him fully, although he appreciates that the rolling over has freed up some more of the sheets that are mostly trapped under Carlos. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Mmmhmm.”

They are silent for a moment. Cecil nuzzles affectionately against Carlos’ shoulder, smiles to himself. “Goodnight,” he whispers, but doesn’t expect a response.

“Night Ceec.” His voice is thick with sleep. "Luhyah," he yawns.

Cecil’s eyes snap open. He pushes himself up halfway. “What was that?”

Carlos doesn’t move or open his eyes. “I love you.”

“Do you?” Cecil sits up completely. “Really?” 

Carlos opens his eyes halfway and squints at Cecil. A breeze creeps in the open window and pushes the curtains around. “Mm-hmm. Course I do.” He reaches a hand up and gently pulls Cecil back down to him.

Cecil smiles against his shoulder. He doesn’t feel tired--not anymore--but he has no intention of getting out of bed. “Well. I love you too.”


End file.
